Shadows Fall on Golden Fields
by Rehaniah
Summary: Jane Sinclair has never liked Roman Sionis. Not only was his name always appearing in the papers, being accused of one criminal activity or another, but there was just something about him that set her on edge. Very on edge. Too bad she's managed to catch his attention, for all the wrong reasons...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just distracting myself with a little writing – in between more important stuff that I really should be getting on with :P**

**Btw, the Roman Sionis featured in this fic is based off the character we saw in Arkham Origins but will most likely have a lot of the comic elements thrown in (because I've always loved how Black Mask is portrayed in the comics – in all his sarcastic, sadistic glory! ;))**

**Also, fair warning: Please take note of the category selections. This is NOT going to be a nice fic where two people fall in love and live happily ever after. As long as this doesn't bother you, please enjoy!**

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Jane's day had been going so well up until the point she'd walked into her father's office. She'd had a decent night's sleep. Her classes at Gotham U had been easy. She'd had a good catch-up with her best friend, Hanna, and then – miracle of miracles! – she'd found out that one of her favourite charities had _finally_ received its long-overdue grant from the City Council. As soon as she'd read the news in the _Gotham Gazette_, she'd phoned up Amelia Hope – a firm friend and the woman who ran the _Hope Centre_ (an organisation dedicated to providing assistance to those with learning difficulties) – and they'd squealed giddily on the phone to each other. It had been wonderful to hear Amelia's voice so full of relief and optimism and had made all the work they'd both done to bring awareness to the cause absolutely worthwhile.

That afternoon she'd practically skipped into her father's building, _Sinclair Inc._, waving a cheery hello to any employees she happened to pass by – most of whom she'd known since she was a child, her parent's having been the founders of the company.

She'd taken the stairs two at a time, arriving onto the top floor only a little out of breath (unfortunately, exercise wasn't exactly her strongest suit). She'd called out a greeting to her father's assistant, Joe, sat behind his desk in the lobby – but had been so caught up with her own enthusiasm that she hadn't seen the way he'd desperately tried to signal to her that something was wrong.

Instead, she'd breezed into her father's office full of hopeful abandon–

_And stopped dead._

She stopped dead because the man currently stood before the large bay window at the other side of the office, dressed head-to-toe in ostentatious white, was definitely _not_ her father.

No, the man brazenly smoking a cigarette despite the strict no-smoking policy throughout the entire building was none other than…

"_Mr Sionis_." All previous happiness had completely evaporated from her voice and, no doubt, her face. Her voice now held a very different tone: One that strived to be 'aloofly polite', but came out much more like 'darkly suspicious'.

The dark-haired man unhurriedly turned away from the window. The blackest of black eyes stared across the room at her, so insolently casual. "Ah, Miss Sinclair," the man acknowledges in a voice that is, like hers, held in check by propriety only.

Jane's eyes dart round the room even though she already knows that they are the only two occupants. "Where's my father?" she asks, her gaze travelling back to the unwelcome guest (in her mind, anyway).

Roman Sionis takes another long pull from his cigarette before answering with the frustratingly vague words: "He's just stepped out for a moment."

Jane feels her eyes narrow, the disdain that she always struggled to hold back with regard to this man slowly but surely creeping its way to the fore. Rather than offending him though, she sees a smirk tug at the corner of his thin, pale lips.

He takes another drag from his cigarette before idly stubbing out the butt on her father's antique brass letter holder. He flicks the ground stump into the trash can and then strolls his way towards her, eyes fixed unerringly on her own.

He draws near – too near to be considered polite – but she holds her ground. The combined scent of expensive cologne and tobacco engulfs her senses, along with something else, something that smelled almost… chemical?

They stand there like that for a good long while, both sizing each other up, neither looking away.

Finally he speaks with the words, "You look more and more like your mother every day." His voice is the very epitome of civility… _but her mother was dead_. She had been for nearly five years now; a tragedy that had brought unimaginable sadness to both her father and herself. As such, people hardly ever brought up the topic, both out of respect and not wishing to upset either of them. Without cracking her icy demeanour, Jane internally steels herself. She's _not_ about to let this man get to her.

"Thank you," she replies bitingly, before moving swiftly on – _to give as good as she got_. "I must say, you also look an awful lot like your father." She relishes the way he's unable to supress the twitch of surprise, swiftly followed by ire. She continues on, in her own _perfectly civil_ tone, "Last week was the anniversary of your parent's death, wasn't it? The _Gazette_ ran an article and I remember seeing a picture of your father that they'd printed – you look remarkably similar." Everyone knew that Roman Sionis had utterly despised his parents but everyone was also very careful not to mention it, due in part to fear of Sionis himself and because of the _'highly suspicious'_ circumstances that had claimed both his parent's lives.

His mouth was now nothing more than a pinched line, no doubt keeping back the torrent of words that were burning on his tongue. She smiled her sweetest, most guileless smile up at him.

Before he has chance to respond, her father suddenly appears through the other door. A man who looked older than his years – due in large part to the trauma of losing his wife – William Sinclair was a gentle soul at heart, his only real vice tending to be the liking of a little too much wine. His eyes, similar to Jane's in their pale emerald hue, widen as he spots his daughter and his guest standing almost toe-to-toe, the body language of both extremely hostile. It's Roman who speaks first, taking a step back from his daughter as he addresses the Sinclair family head.

"Since you seem to have a lot on, William, I'll come again at a more appropriate time." Roman's voice was firm, his words very clearly a statement, not a suggestion.

"Er–well, if you're sure it's no trouble, Roman," William falters. He'd been caught off guard by his daughter showing up. Not that he ever minded Jane dropping by, but his affairs with Roman Sionis were… of such a nature that it required _complete_ privacy. He knew that his daughter didn't like Sionis at the best of times, and right now she was eyeing them both with extreme suspicion.

"No trouble at all," Roman replies, not overly pleasantly. Then his eyes snap back towards Jane. "Miss Sinclair," he gives the slightest incline of his head, "Always a pleasure."

Following social protocol, Jane replies with a tight smile, "Do have a good day, Mr Sionis." The smile instantly vanishes the moment Roman has turned away.

Father and daughter watch as the white-suited man strides out. As soon as the door has closed behind him, Jane swings round.

"Tell me you're not getting into business with him," she demands, causing William to let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Jane," he says, "he _is_ a good business man."

"Yeah, and everyone knows ninety per cent of his business is _off the books_," she snarks back.

"That is pure conjecture and you know it," he retorts strongly as he moves over to his desk.

"Just because the authorities can't prove it doesn't mean that it's not true!" she persists, doggedly following him.

William's teeth clench together. He wasn't a man prone to anger, and especially not with his daughter, but he was already on edge and Jane's obstinacy in this matter did get to him sometimes. "Honestly," he tries again, "I've never known you to be this hard on anyone. You don't make such a big deal about the fact that _Bruce Wayne_ sleeps with half the women of Gotham City."

"Bruce Wayne's nothing but a narcissistic playboy but at least he does have some redeeming features: He takes pride in this city and gives more aid to it than most."

"Roman gives charitable donations too," William points out.

"Only in order to further his own ends, or draw attention away from whatever he's being accused of! He doesn't give a shit about this city or its people. The only reason he's in Gotham Society at all is because he burnt his parents alive so that he could use their money–"

"_That is enough!_" William snaps, his patience finally breaking. "I will not have you speaking that way about someone who's done nothing to you and who's not even here to defend themselves. While this company will be yours one day, it is still _mine_ for the moment and I would thank you to keep your unfounded beliefs to yourself."

He regrets his outburst almost immediately – as soon as he sees _that_ look in her eyes. He hated seeing her upset. Jane was the most important thing in the world to him now that his wife was gone and he knew that she hated fighting with him as much as he did with her.

He sighs heavily, his hands leaving the papers that he'd been sorting out on his desk – he hadn't even been seeing them anyway. "Look, I'm sorry, Janey," he says.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to run your company, dad," she beseeches firmly but the tremor in her voice gives her away. His daughter may act strong, and indeed she was, but she did feel emotions keenly, all the more so with someone she cared about.

"I know, honey," he replies, walking round to the other side of the desk and putting his arms round her. She returns the hug, wrapping her arms round him tightly and leaning her head on his shoulder. Sometimes, he forgot just how young she was. Though the death of her mother had matured her faster than most, she was still just nineteen and he didn't want to burden her with any more sorrow.

He pulls back after a moment and holds her eyes. "You don't have to worry. Just trust me, honey. You do, don't you?"

"It's him I don't trust, dad, you know that," she tells him quietly. "You know what's said about him…"

"The press will print anything about anyone – you know as well as I do that it's always exaggerated." His voice was sure but she still shakes her head.

"Please, dad," she implores, her concern so very apparent as she holds his gaze with her own, "I'm begging you, _don't_ get involved with him."

He finds he can't look into her eyes as he says the words so he brings her back into his embrace. "I promise," he murmurs down to her, "I won't get involved with Roman Sionis."

The lie glides out so smoothly into the air around them, he almost believes it himself. _Too bad it was already far too late for such a promise… _

…

Meanwhile, back at Sionis Industries…

David Li, personal assistant to Roman Sionis, greets his boss as he returns to the office. "Ah, welcome back, sir. I trust everything went well with Mr Sinclair?"

His boss seats himself down behind his large oak desk before swiftly yanking open the bottom drawer to extract the bottle of whiskey that resided therein. He pours himself a large glass and downs it in one before answering. "Not exactly. That _stuck-up bitch_ interrupted us before I was able to inform Sinclair of the 'good news'."

A frown mars David's forehead until he realises who his boss was referring to. "Ah, you mean Miss Jane Sinclair," he deduces.

Roman gives a disgruntled grunt of confirmation.

"Ah, I see," David replies as an image of the girl in question rises into his mind; deep auburn hair, green eyes, smooth, silky skin… "Hard to comprehend how such a man as William Sinclair was able to father such a beautiful daughter," he comments idly.

His boss's face becomes even sourer and he downs another shot of whiskey, refilling the glass immediately after. It was a pity, David thought, that he hadn't been able to give Sinclair Senior the bad news. Giving people bad news always put his boss in a good mood. And when Roman Sionis was in a good mood, it went much better for _everyone_ involved. To that end, David swiftly shook himself out of his reprieve and moved the conversation on to a more agreeable note, "Well, sir, it's not like Sinclair's debt is going away any time soon. I'm sure they'll be other opportunities. In the meantime, you'll be pleased to hear that your men have finally managed to track down Alberto Falcone. He's in your _private _office downstairs should you wish to, ah, _'talk'_ to him." David looked on expectantly. A healthy round of torturing the son of one of his hated enemies would undoubtedly lift his boss's mood... But Roman didn't move. Instead he continued to stare into the deep brown liquid of his glass.

"If only it was _her_ instead." His boss's voice was so low, David almost didn't catch it. When his mind deciphered what had been said, he questions it incredulously, "You wish to kidnap _Jane Sinclair_!?"

"_No, you moron!_" his boss snaps back at him venomously. "You don't think that they'll have every cop in this whole damn city searching if Gotham's Golden Princess suddenly disappeared?!"

This was certainly true. Gotham's _Golden Princess_ was known as such not for wealth – even though that would be true enough – but for her 'heart of gold'. When she wasn't spending her free time working at some homeless shelter or for those retarded kids, she was using her family's money to throw some benefit dinner for them, or whatever other charity she could find. Honestly, it was such a waste.

"Hmm…" His boss's voice suddenly takes on a contemplative tone. After a long, ominous moment he continues, "On second thoughts, David, perhaps we'll leave Mr Sinclair's account open for a little while longer. In fact… be sure to send a special invitation to next week's game."

"Sir?" David questions unsurely. _Hadn't they got Sinclair in deep enough already? _

"Just do it, David," his boss growls before downing his final shot of whiskey and slamming the glass back down on the table, a dark glint now shining within the depths of his eyes.

Knowing all too well what happened to those employees who over-stepped their boundaries, David immediately takes a step back, responding with a meek, "Yes sir," before leaving his boss to his own dark musings…

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**Btw, just in case it isn't clear, this is set before the events of Arkham Origins :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm worried about him," Jane says, a noticeable crease of worry marring the bridge of her nose. "Ever since I caught Sionis in his office, he's been acting weird."

"'Weird' how?" Hanna questions from across the table before taking a sip from her coffee mug. It was an uncommonly sunny day in Gotham City and the two friends had taken the opportunity to have lunch at an outdoor cafe. Jane had finished her classes for the day and Hanna was on break from St. June's hospital a few blocks away.

"Well, for one thing," Jane says, leaning towards her friend, "Derek said that he's been sent home early three times this month."

"I can't believe you're spying on your father using his own chauffeur," Hanna remarks with dry irony.

"I am not spying on him!" Jane protests immediately, then quickly lowers her voice as the couple at a nearby table give her an odd look. "I'm just… _concerned_, is all."

"And you think that Derek being sent home early from work is something that you should be concerned with?" Hanna questions with an air of exaggerated patience.

"Well…" Jane had to admit, her suspicions seemed much more well-founded _before_ she started saying them out loud.

"Perhaps," Hanna comments, "your dad thought that Derek deserved some time off – your dad's never been known as a tyrannical employer, after all. Perhaps he thought Derek would want to have some extra time with his family. Perhaps he felt like getting a cab. _Perhaps_ he decided he just fancied a walk–"

"Alright, alright," Jane cuts in, stopping Hanna before she really got going. She gave her friend an unimpressed look before conceding, "Okay, fine, so maybe he hasn't been acting '_weird'_, per say." Hanna looks on with a knowing expression. "But, well, it's just… I've got this feeling…"

"You wouldn't, perchance, just be worrying about him for absolutely no reason, would you?" Hanna voice is droll.

"No!" Jane replies vehemently.

"R_iiii_ght, because it's not like you've _ever_ done that before." Hanna eyes her shrewdly over her mug before taking another sip. Jane glares back, even more unimpressed than before.

Their mutual stare fest is broken by the waitress arriving with their food. Never one to stand on ceremony for anything, Hanna digs into her pasta straight away whilst Jane pokes rather listlessly at her salad with her fork.

"Look," Hanna says in a reasonable voice after taking several mouthfuls, "I _know_ that _you know_ practically everything about that company since you more-or-less grew up in it, but your dad has been doing business a long time – you've got to accept the fact that he knows what he's doing."

"I _do_," Jane states sincerely. "And it's not that – it's not about the business side of it. It's just…" she sighs heavily, "Since mom died, he's… changed."

"He lost the love of his life, of course he has." Hanna's tone is frank but not harsh. "People always change when someone they love dies – _you_ have."

"I haven't changed that much," Jane protests.

"I'm not saying that it was a bad change," Hanna argues. "It's just – well, for one thing, you used to worry a lot less. Now you seem to worry about _everything_. As evidenced by this very conversation."

"Perhaps my mother dying of cancer just showed me that there was, in fact, a lot to worry about," Jane contends.

"You're absolutely right," Hanna agrees. "There's a hellova lot of crap in this world, most of it bad, and any number of things could affect you every single day. But if you're constantly worrying about what _might_ happen, you're never going to be really living."

"But don't you see," Jane insists fervently, "that's what I'm worried _he's_ doing! He's spending so much more time at the office than he used to. I could understand it just after mom died because he didn't like being in the house or because he wanted something to distract him from what had happened. But I thought it would slow down eventually and he'd go back to the way he was before – you know how he used to have loads of hobbies and friends... But now he hardly goes anywhere except to work and the only times he goes out is to high-end parties – and I know that's to keep up appearances more than anything else, not because he really enjoys them. He only used to enjoy them when mom was with him…" Jane trails off, lapsing into memories of her father and mother together. How happy they both were…

After a while, Hanna speaks. "Look," she says seriously, leaning forward to catch Jane's gaze, "I'm being honest here. Now, you know I like a good conspiracy theory as much as the next gal but, Jane, sweetheart, nothing that you've said just now sounds remotely suspicious to me. Your dad had a meeting with some guy you don't like – that's part of business, dealing with people who you don't like. He lets his chauffeur have a few afternoons off – your dad's always been good to his staff, that's why everyone stays working for him 'til retirement age. And he doesn't go out much? Well, maybe that's cos he doesn't want to. People _are_ allowed to change their behaviour, you know. It's just part of life. Honestly," she concludes, "I think you're reading _far_ too much into all this."

After a long, thought-filled moment, Jane flops back into her chair, a groan rumbling from deep within her throat, "Urgh, maybe you're right."

"It's what I pride myself on being, dearie," Hanna responds, the playful note returning to her voice.

"I just wish…" Jane sighs again, her eyes going distant, "I just wish I could make sure he was happy…"

Hanna watches her friend for a moment longer before saying with quiet sympathy, "It's what we always want for those closest to us. But you can't bring back the dead, honey. And you can't _force_ happiness on someone. You have to let them find it themselves."

Jane looked to her friend again. This was why she loved Hanna so much. Not only could Jane confide in her about anything but Hanna would always be honest with her, even if her words were not the pleasantest to say. When you lived within the upper echelons of society, true candour was hard to find, since ninety per cent of people were concerned only with appearance and maintaining friendships that were '_mutually beneficial_'. Even though their friendship had been an unlikely one – with Hanna being the daughter of the Sinclair family's housekeeper – it had remained one of the strongest bonds throughout Jane's life and there wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't grateful for it. She hoped that Hanna felt the same way.

"Maybe I was overthinking it a bit," Jane finally admits, a slightly sheepish look beginning to creep over her features.

"Well, it happens to the best of us at one time or another," Hanna replies teasingly. "Tell ya what," she says as she expertly swipes up the last of her pasta, "If I'm wrong, and there is something to be worried about, I'll give you a colonoscopy – completely free of charge!"

"_Ugh!_" Jane chokes on her mouthful even as both girls fall into laughter. "God," she coughs out, "I notice you waited until _you'd_ finished to say that, didn't you?!"

"Hey, I only wish that was the worst part of being a Gotham City nurse!" Hanna jokes.

They continue the rest of their lunch talking about various other aspects of their lives: Hanna's fiancée, Zeke, and his new job at Gotham Merchant's Bank, Jane's Business Management course at Gotham University, the seemingly never-ending new staffing additions at Hanna's work, nearly all of whom (according to Hanna) didn't have an ounce of common sense…

"…I swear, I don't even know how they managed to pass their exams without someone there to hand them a pencil!" Hanna throws up her hands in exasperation.

"Well, with the way the city's education system seems to be going, they may very well have had that," Jane comments drily.

"Ha, says the girl who deliberately _chose_ to have her education here in Gotham, rather than any number of top Universities throughout the world."

Jane grins. They both knew that the real reason she'd stayed in Gotham for her education was to be close to her father and make sure he was alright, but she teases Hanna anyway, "Aw, come on, I know you'd have missed me if I left."

After snorting good-naturedly, Hanna then concedes, "Well, I suppose if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to go to all those fancy-ass parties and eat rich-people grub."

"Oh yeah!" Jane snaps her fingers suddenly, Hanna's words sparking a memory within, "I knew there was something else I wanted to ask you: Are you doing anything the weekend after next?"

"Hmm," Hanna pondered. "Don't think so. Why?"

"Feel like coming to another 'fancy-ass party' with me? It's Veronica Vreeland's birthday." Jane always found these 'necessary social engagements' that much more tolerable if she could manage to drag Hanna along with her.

"_We-ell_, I am supposed to run any new appointments by my PA…" Hanna replies with a snooty expression before grinning, "But what the hell, count me in!"

Jane smiles with gratitude, "You're a good 'un. Thanks."

Hanna gives a mock bow, then her face scrunches with thought. "Veronica Vreeland," she ponders out loud, her gaze travelling to Jane's for verification,"…Do we like her?"

Jane shrugs idly, "Well, aside from being rather too obsessed with amassing numerous husbands, she's okay. One of the lesser evils of society."

"Ah," Hanna says, having been filled-in. Then she adds, "Too bad it's not this weekend."

"Why?" Jane questions interestedly.

"Gotta go see the in-laws," Hanna answers with distinct un-enthusiasm.

"Oh." Jane gives a suitably sympathetic face. While Hanna did love her fiancée wholeheartedly, his parents were another matter. Not that they were horrible, but they were the sort who had difficulty cutting the apron strings, or, as Hanna put it, 'they never stop sticking their big-ass noses into our lives!'. "Well," Jane says, "If you want an excuse to give it a miss, you could always come to the soup kitchens with me this weekend. Help out for a bit."

"Ha!" Hanna picks up her bag and throws it over her shoulder, ready to head back to the hospital for the rest of her shift. "I don't need to feel guilty about not being poor – I already am!" she snarks down at her friend before giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder.

Jane rolls her eyes, chuckling before returning Hanna's goodbye wave and watching as she jogged away.

After a moment, Jane says to the empty table, "Guess I'm picking up the tab, too."

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**A/N: Filler chapters are boring, I know! I'm just trying to establish the relationship between the two girls. On the plus side, someone slightly more interesting shows up in the next chapter ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed – appreciate it! And to 'Batfangirl773': I'm glad I'm not the only one who bemoans the lack of Black Mask fics ;)**

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Jane gazes at herself in the full-length mirror, sighs, and then begins taking off the fifth dress she'd tried on that evening, tossing it haphazardly to join the mounting heap of discarded items on the bed. _Nothing looked right._

"Geez, it would be so much easier if I was a man," she mutters to herself as she walks back over to her closet and flicks through the rails again. "Just slap on any old shirt and tie and be done with it. Never mind if it's one that clashes with your hair or emphasizes the zit that's just erupted on your chin…" She sighs again.

An hour later sees her stood back in front of the mirror. She twirls to the right, then to the left, eyeing herself critically all the while. Then, finally, she nods. "That'll do," she concludes – more out of an unwillingness to further torture herself than anything else.

The dress was a floor-length, deep green silk number that complimented the shade of her eyes as well as highlighting the red tones in her hair. The color also meant that she could wear the emerald-encrusted hair clip that was once her mother's. It was a truly beautiful piece and, hopefully, everyone would be so dazzled by it that they wouldn't notice the zit that had – despite Jane's earnest efforts – refused to be hidden by concealer.

After applying the appropriate make-up and earrings, she descends the stairs of her family home to find her father already waiting at the bottom, dressed in an elegant black tuxedo along with his favourite red bowtie. Her father had always liked the color red. When she was younger, he used to tell Jane that it was her mother's auburn hair that had made him fall in love with her at first sight.

"You look beautiful," he says as she neared him.

Jane smiles. "Thanks, dad," she replies appreciatively.

"You have your mother to thank for your beauty, not me."

They each give a chuckle at his joke. Almost immediately afterwards though, Jane finds herself having to hold in a sigh. There were times when she loved her father so much… _and times when she worried about him so much too_: About the sadness that was held so deep within his eyes, fading sometimes but never leaving, not truly… Drawing level with him, she slips her arm into his and lays her head on his broad shoulder, taking comfort from the familiar sensation.

"Are you alright, honey?" her father asks, his head tilting down to look at her as she held onto him.

Her eyes flick upwards to his slightly concerned ones and she smiles gently. " 'Course, dad," she reassures as they begin to walk towards the front door where Derek stood waiting for them.

Her father holds her gaze a moment longer before laying a kiss to her forehead.

"You did say we're picking up Hanna this evening, didn't you?" he questions as they step through the entranceway and out into the crisp autumn air.

"If that's okay," Jane answers.

"Of course it is," her father agrees easily. "Makes me feel very impressive to walk in with _two_ beautiful females. Must be what Bruce Wayne feels like every day, I imagine…"

…

After saying their obligatory greetings and birthday well-wishes to Veronica Vreeland (having already added their presents to the overflowing pile on the table in the entrance hall), Jane's father leaves them to make his way over to his particular acquaintances on the far side of the room – who also happened to be gathered round the minibar. The two girls take the time to peruse the room; Jane, to see who was here, and Hanna, to take a discerning look at the food they were serving.

"I think we should start at _that_ buffet table first," Hanna says, nodding ahead of her whilst deftly swiping them two flutes of Champaign from a passing waiter.

Unfortunately, Jane doesn't hear her friend's suggestion since her gaze had just landed on someone she was _far_ from pleased to see. "What the hell's he doing here?" she murmurs, almost to herself.

"Who?" Hanna queries, turning her head to look in the same direction.

"Roman Sionis."

"The guy dressed in white – that's the guy your father was meeting with?" Hanna clarifies whilst passing Jane one of the Champaign glasses.

"Yeah." Knowing that she'd been staring for too long (and not with a particularly pleasant expression on her face, either) Jane forces herself to look away from the small gathering that Sionis was currently a part of. Her body suddenly felt much tenser than it had done and she quickly checks on where her father is. Thankfully, he was still chatting quite happily to the Joyce family by the bar, which was a fair distance away. She raises her flute to take a quick drink of Champaign.

"Why don't we like him, again?" Hanna says, still staring across the room and bringing Jane's attention back to where it had been.

"Sionis? Because he's the one who's always in the papers," Jane replies darkly, before plastering a smile on her face as she catches the eye of Mrs Swinton, over at a nearby table. She politely nods her head towards the elderly woman and receives a graceful one in return.

"The guy who has a different girlfriend every week?" Hanna continues.

"No, that's Bruce Wayne. He's over there," Jane jerks her head towards the other entrance of the room where a gaggle of females were all batting their eyelashes up at a particularly handsome man. "Sionis is the one who's always being accused of criminal activity, but never actually convicted."

"Sounds like quite a few corporate heads in Gotham," Hanna notes idly before taking a healthy swig of Champaign herself. Jane copies the action with her own glass before answering.

"No, Sionis is worse, believe me. The stuff he's accused of – it's far more serious than a few dodgy deals and kickbacks... Help me keep an eye on him tonight, will you? Just in case he tries talking my dad into anything."

"I thought we'd already agreed not to be concerned over that?" Hanna challenges. "Remember, we discussed how your dad's been in the biz long enough to know what he's doing and therefore doesn't need you getting all paranoid and spying on him – any of this ringing a bell?"

"I'm not concerned," Jane defends, albeit rather falsely as she avoids her friend's blatantly sceptical gaze. "I just don't want dad to be stuck talking to someone he doesn't want to, is all."

"Hmmm," Hanna doesn't sound at all convinced but looks back towards Sionis anyway. "Well, at least in that suit he should be fairly easy to keep an eye on. Why did you sound so surprised when you first saw him here?"

"Because he doesn't make a habit of attending these sorts of functions."

"Why? He's rich enough, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah, he's definitely rich enough," Jane admits. "But while he has the money to be part of Gotham's Social Elite, let's just say that he doesn't have _the personality_. Generally speaking, he doesn't tend to mix well with others – unless he wants something, of course, at which point I'm told he can be quite '_persuasive_'. Though that particular word is rather open to interpretation," she finishes, grimly. Forcefully shaking herself away from the shadows of her suspicions, Jane determinedly loops her arm through Hanna's and draws them both away. "Come on," she declares cheerfully, "let's go find someone nicer to look at – _it certainly won't be hard_."

A few hours later and the girls have made it round half the buffet tables, as well as speaking to a good number of people. They were now on the edge of the group currently listening to Veronica Vreeland talk about her latest holiday.

"…it was simply marvellous! And the views, I've never seen anything more beautiful…" Veronica's musical voice drifted through Jane's consciousness until she received a sharp jab in the side from a nearby elbow. Her attention leaves their host to look at Hanna.

"What was that for?" Jane whispers, but her friend's gaze was occupied elsewhere.

"Who's that guy over there?" Hanna nods in said direction. "He seems to be eyeing you up with abandon."

"Oh, that's Jefferson Mulroney," Jane replies, after taking a brief look for herself. "I got stuck having a conversation with him at a gallery opening last year. Since then he seems to have made it his mission to speak to me at every opportunity – which would be fine, except for the fact that the only thing _Jefferson Mulroney_ is interested in is _Jefferson Mulroney_. And let me tell you, that topic gets old, quickly... See, this is why I need you here at _every_ one of these things – so that you can run interference."

"Aw, you should give him a shot. He looks okay." As if to prove her point, Hanna gives him a friendly wave.

Jane curses under her breath, "_Han, what are you doing?!_"

Clearly taking Hanna's gesture as an invite, Jefferson immediately starts making a bee-line for them, causing Jane to groan in the back of her throat. Thankfully she's saved by Cyrus Reed, who collars Jefferson as he's halfway across the room. Without hesitation, Jane seizes the opportunity, grabbing Hanna round the upper arm and dragging them behind several large planters.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Jane demands peevishly.

"What?" Hanna defends, "He didn't seem so bad. The whiteness of his teeth was a bit blinding, but there are worse things."

"Don't start with trying to get me on the dating scene again, _please_," Jane implores as she spies through the foliage. Seeing that the coast was clear, she dragged them both out and over towards where the band was playing, effectively losing them in the larger crowds gathered there.

"Oh, come on, Jane, I was just having a bit of fun. You know, you're never going to find someone if you don't take a chance every now and then."

"You know perfectly well that I don't want to just '_find someone_'," Jane retorts strongly. "I want something more than that. I want what my parents had, what you and Zeke have."

Hanna snorts, "Don't know why."

"Don't give me that. You two are soul-mates if I ever saw them – by the end of the second week of dating, you were finishing each other's sentences! And you've been together ever since, through _everything_. I don't think you realise how precious and _rare_ that is."

Never one to be overly sentimental with her feelings – even if those feelings did run extremely deep, as was obviously the case with her fiancée – Hanna replies, "Yeah, well, I suppose he's alright, really... But, sometimes, you know, I can't help but wonder if you're just deliberately holding yourself back. After all, nowhere does it say that you have to be a complete saint whilst looking for 'the one'. Hey, maybe Bruce Wayne can give some pointers."

"Oh yeah," Jane replies derisively, "I can really remember you '_playing the field_' before you met Zeke at the ripe old age of _fourteen_."

A long moment goes by as Hanna searches for a rebuttal to Jane's comment. Eventually she concedes with a careless shrug, "Eh, touché."

"You know that the last thing I want is to waste my time and emotions on someone I'm not certain about." Jane did feel very strongly about this particular topic. Yes, the idea may be old-fashioned, but having seen first-hand what _true, real love_ was like, she didn't want to settle for anything less. "Plus," she continues, just to confirm her stance, "I can guarantee you that the vast majority of eligible men in _this_ particular room see nothing but looks or nothing a dollar sign when they look at me."

"Oh no," Hanna mocks in a high-pitched voice, "I'm so beautiful and rich; life's _sooo_ hard!"

Jane whacks her friend on the shoulder, who subsequently bursts into giggles. "You know that's not what I meant," Jane reprimands, striving to be serious rather than joining in with her friend's laughter. She soon succumbs to the latter… "Come on," she says, once they'd both got themselves back under control, "I can see Mrs Leaver has an opening, let's go see her – she's lovely."

Another hour or so goes by and, despite her attempts at avoidance, Jane unfortunately finds herself ensnared by Jefferson Mulroney. He was currently talking about his latest exploits in killing – although he referred to it as 'hunting':

"…and since then, its head has been mounted above the fireplace in our Summer House. You'll have to come over and see it sometime."

"Mmmm," Jane responds, using the most uncommitted of tones. She checks on Hanna and her father again to see if there was any way she could signal either of them to rescue her. Sadly, they were both out of reach. Hanna was currently involved in a lively discussion with Mr Morris whilst her father seemed to be engrossed in discussion with Janet Bryce's husband (whose name Jane always forgot, but who shared her father's interest in fine wines – most notably, _drinking them_). It would seem she would have to find her own way out of her situation. However, she had to do so without seeming rude to Jefferson, since his mother was long-standing associate of her father's…

Her attention returns to find that Jefferson had started up again, this time about his new yacht. Being entirely unsure as to how much longer she could hold out without revealing her utter boredom, Jane hastily downs the rest of the Champaign in her glass.

"…Of course, you have to have the right skills to make it look so easy. Thankfully though, I–"

"I'm so sorry, Jefferson," Jane says, cutting in before he could really get going with his story, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to use the restroom." She indicates her empty glass with what she hopes comes across as a rueful expression and then hastily stands up from the table.

"Oh, not a problem – I'm sure my exploits will keep until you get back!" he jokes jollily.

She forces her lips into a smile. "I can't wait," she says with just the merest twitch of her eye that she sincerely hopes wasn't noticeable.

Without risking another moment, Jane turns away and hurries through the main doors. In order to cover her tracks, she does indeed go down the hallway towards the restrooms, but instead of going right, she turns left at the intersection. Navigating her way through the elegantly decorated hallways (she'd visited the Vreeland mansion many times before so this wasn't difficult), she winds up coming out on the upper floor that overlooked the main room. There were several guests milling around up here too, but not nearly as many as downstairs.

Not wanting to risk going too close to the railing lest Jefferson spotted her again, she decides to head out onto one of the small terraces that lined the room. She'd catch a breath of fresh air and hope that Jefferson had snagged someone else to talk to by the time she got back.

Sliding open the ornate glass door, she steps out into the night air. Since it was so cold, no one else had chosen to go outside, meaning she could enjoy the freedom of being alone for a few minutes.

She fills her lungs with a deep, cleansing breath as she stares out over the Vreeland estate. It really was beautiful. She knew that Veronica had an army of gardeners who kept the grounds in immaculate condition all year round but she couldn't argue with the effects. Lush green lawns flowed outwards like fine silk. Evergreens and shrubs were pruned to perfection, hung with tiny, glittering white lights – put up especially for the party, no doubt, even though people would only see them for the scant few seconds until they were indoors. Through the trees, she could just glimpse the large, ornamental fountain which was causing the far-off melody of trickling water. It was a magnificent sight. Jane had always loved the outdoors, ever since she'd been a child, and often wished that she could spend more time surrounded by nature… _Heh, maybe I should take Jefferson up on his offer of tagging along with him on his next hunting trip_, she thinks ironically to herself.

So absorbed was she with gazing out at the grounds that she didn't even notice the passing of time. It's only when she hears the door to the balcony slide open that her mind registers the fact that she must have been out here for a good twenty minutes, at least.

Expecting it to be Hanna or her father who's sought her out, she swivels round to greet them.

_Except it's not Hanna or her father._

For a long moment all he does is stand there and stare. His lean but tall figure is silhouetted against the light filtering through the glass behind him but despite this, his face remains in shadow. It's only because of the white of his eyes that she's able to discern his gaze.

His posture is relaxed, smug almost, as he simultaneously blocks both the entrance and exit to the terrace. From his back pocket a cigarette appears between his fingers and he raises it casually up to his lips before lighting it with a monogramed lighter. His eyes then move to flow over her body, as lazily as the smoke that drifts out from his mouth...

He's watching her closely, far too closely for comfort – or _politeness_, for that matter. But since the two of them were so clearly alone, he evidently didn't see any need for maintaining the well-mannered pretence he'd no doubt been sporting all night. In keeping with this, he makes no attempt at engaging her in conversation. He simply leaves the silence to wrap itself around them, as cold and frigid as the night air.

For several moments neither of them say anything. They just stand there, facing each other on opposite sides.

Eventually Jane rallies herself, breaking the foreboding hush and forcing herself to acknowledge him, even if it is through clenched teeth: "Mr Sionis… It's not often we see you at these events." Her tone plainly infers that this is no bad thing.

It's a while before he deigns to answer her back. "Well, I can't say that I feel the need to fit in with this particular crowd." His doesn't even try to conceal the disdain in his deep, almost rasping, voice.

"And yet your parents did." The response leaves her before she can think. She's not a vicious person by nature. Normally she wouldn't even think about being so antagonistic towards anyone… but there was just something about this man that she _really_ didn't like – or trust. It went beyond simple annoyance. He managed to disturb her on a far deeper level than she was comfortable with – or indeed, that anyone else had ever managed to reach. It was this that made her instinctively strike out, as though she felt that she had to before _he_ did.

The effect of mentioning his parents is instantaneous. The faint lines around his mouth became taut as his fingers reflexively tighten on the cigarette. The veneer of arrogant blankness that he had previously been wearing across his features crumbles to reveal malice, pure and potent. _I wonder if he's ever hit a woman_; the question appears in her mind without any warning or forethought, making it all the more disturbing. Even more so when Sionis' very demeanour makes the answer that follows obvious: _She's certain he has_.

He takes a step towards her and Jane finds her body bracing itself, the most prominent thought in her now-charged mind being that of _if he _was_ going to strike her, she was damn-well going to strike back._

But then the black, tailored shoes halt again. She watches as he takes a deep breath, can literally _see_ him reining the rage back inside. His eyes leave hers to glide up and down her form again – assessing her, maybe? Maybe something else… Then he alters his previous course slightly so that he ends up coming to stand next to her rather than in front. She does notice, however, that he's chosen the side of her that's most in darkness.

As if nothing untoward had ever happened, he casually places his hand on the rail and looks out over the gardens. When he speaks, his voice is controlled, _deliberate_.

"It would not be an exaggeration to say that my parents had a lot of interests that I didn't share, or wasn't privy to." He lets a long pause fall, before meeting her gaze once again in order to conclude, "I'm certain the same is true of _all_ parents."

Jane narrows her eyes. She hadn't liked the way he'd said that, though he'd kept his tone very carefully blank – _perhaps that had been why she hadn't liked it..._ Yet rationality rears its head once more and she wisely decides that she's had more than enough of this man's 'company', along with his cryptic dialogue. She states her words in a brusquely firm tone but one which ultimately signals disinterest, "If you say so."

Having made up her mind to not waste any more time on this situation, she turns smartly on her heel and goes to walk away, "But if you'll excuse me, I really must–"

She freezes.

She hadn't even seen him move, he'd been so quick, but he most certainly had because now his fingers, long and encased beneath finest black leather, were anchored unmercifully round her elbow. It was a strange thing but Jane had never really gotten used to physical touch. Of course, she was perfectly accustomed to giving the old 'kiss of greeting' and delicate hug that was the accepted norm of society women, but anything more than that – even just a hand on her shoulder from someone she didn't know well – and she found it… uncomfortable. And, of course, it went much further than _uncomfortable_ when the touch was not only from someone who she hardly knew, but who had a very active dislike of her.

The man in question lets her heart batter her ribcage for a good number of seconds before slowly leaning his head down. "Be careful, Miss Sinclair," he murmurs, though with the timbre of his voice, it sounded almost like a growl. "The pedestals that we place ourselves on are not always as stable as we think they are."

Jane's head turns upward sharply. Even if he had taken her by surprise, she wasn't about to succumb to his intimidation tactics. She was stronger than that. "Is that supposed to be some kind of threat, Mr Sionis?" she challenges, driving both strength and contempt into her voice.

"Not at all," he replies promptly – _too promptly?_ "Merely an observation. As you continue to grow up, young lady, you might start to realise that your _elders and betters_ do provide some very beneficial advice." The blood was thrumming through her veins now, coursing foremost with adrenaline, but a fusion of other emotions lingered not far behind.

"Well then, I assure you, _Mr Sionis_," she practically hisses back up at him, "that when I meet someone who fulfils _both_ those criteria rather than just the _former_, I will be sure to listen very carefully to what they have to say."

Had she been capable of more rational thought, Jane would've perhaps assumed it impossible for the air to become even stiller, for the tension in the atmosphere to rise even higher but her last statement proved both of those assumptions wrong. She actually feels the fingers around her arm tighten, _tighten_, and now it's not just adrenaline but fear as well that's swirling through her system. Yet she still doesn't back down. She _will not_ be the one to look away first…

Abruptly – so abruptly that Jane almost jumps – the straining silence is broken by the sound of the glass door being flung open, along with a new voice that pierces the air: "Hey, Jane, you should really try these crab-puffs – they're delicious!"

Hanna's voice rapidly fades as she takes in the distinctly _un-friendly_ scene she'd just walked in on. Concern makes her next words come out in a tone that was just shy of aggressive, "Everything alright, Jane?"

Like a true parlour trick, Jane witnesses the mask come back down over Sionis' face, painting it in a callous indifference that was in complete contrast to the simmering rage that had dwelled there moments ago. She hadn't noticed when he'd dropped his hand from hers, (it must have been the very moment Hanna appeared), but she now takes note, with relief, of the fact that his fingers were no longer holding onto her.

Jane can't stop her body from instinctively taking a few steps away, but manages to disguise the action somewhat with the words, "Mr Sionis, this is my friend, Hanna Sanchez." Jane, very briefly, holds out a hand in her friend's direction.

"Hello," Hanna greets, but her tone remains uneasy, evidently still unsure as to what to make of everything.

"A pleasure." Sionis' reply is swift but lacks any hint of sincerity. His eyes also remain unerringly locked onto Jane. Clearly, he didn't deem Hanna important enough for him to bother returning to his façade of civility.

Then, without another word, he turns and stalks away.

He doesn't look back as he disappears through the door and into the house.

For a moment, both girls stare after him. Then Hanna looks over at Jane. "Are you alright?" she asks in a serious tone of voice.

Jane blinks, then replies quickly, " 'course." She draws herself up and gives an unconcerned shrug of her shoulders. She absolutely _refused_ to allow Roman Sionis the victory of throwing her off-balance – even if he was no longer present to see it.

Hanna watches her with an inscrutable expression for a few seconds before giving a half-shrug herself. Then she proclaims, "Well, you know I never like to make snap judgements–" (Truth be told, Hanna spent most of her life making snap judgements – about everything) "–but he seems like a complete _a-hole_."

"He is." Jane's voice is grim.

"And he _really_ doesn't seem to like you…" Hanna's voice remains serious but now has an added layer of contemplation. She sends an appraising glance towards her friend, her brown eyes pensive.

"_The feeling's entirely mutual_," is the final point that Jane has to say on the matter.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry I'm late," Jane apologises as she hurries over to where Hanna is sat waiting for her.

Her friend looks up and after Jane has slumped down on the park bench next to her, hands her a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Thanks," Jane says, gratefully taking the cup. After taking a sip to wet her throat, she continues exasperatedly, "I swear, sometimes I think it'd be easier to just run over Gotham's rooftops than risk its main roads!"

"Well, I'm sure that's why The Batman does it," Hanna replies.

"Urgh." Jane rolls her eyes, her voice immediately becoming full of contemptuous disbelief as she eyes her friend askance, "_Please_ do not get into that again!"

"Hey!" Hanna reprimands, pointing a stern finger, "There was _another_ picture of him in yesterday's paper – didn't you see it?"

"Yeah, and tourists are constantly snapping _pictures_-" Jane makes two derisive air quotes with the forefingers of each hand (only slightly hampered by the coffee cup) "-of Bigfoot, when all they are in reality is blurry outlines of some vague shadow. Which is exactly what all the pictures of _The Batman_-" (air quotes again) "-have looked like."

"Why is it so far-fetched that some guy may be dressing up to resemble a human-flying-creature-of-the-night in to order to hunt down criminals and beat them up, huh?" Hanna demands.

"I think you just answered your own question," Jane retorts sardonically.

"Well, I tell you, it doesn't surprise me _in the least_ that someone's beginning to take justice into their own hands. Lord knows, the police in this city need all the help they can get."

"Even if I agree with your last point, what makes you think that someone going _vigilante_ is going to make the crime rate any better? That's equivalent to throwing gas on a fire in order to put out the flames."

"In what way?!" Hanna argues.

"It's escalating the problem!" Jane answers impassionedly. "Criminals think that the law doesn't apply to them and this so-called _Batman_ thinks the same, hence the reason he's beating people to a bloody pulp during the hours when he can't be seen or caught! So now, instead of just _criminals_ acting like the law means nothing, you've got the beginnings of whole other breed of violent people thinking the same."

Hanna gesticulates insistently, "But the law _is_ _broken_. You've seen how it is: On the rare occasion that they actually catch the guy, he just gets off on some technicality – they walk straight back out onto the streets!"

"So you need to _fix the law_," Jane counters, "not take it into your own hands. Allow the police some leeway to find concrete evidence. Bring in tougher sentences. Stop turning the prisons into bloody hotel rooms with free satellite tv and wifi! Give the criminals something to fear so that they stop and think about the risks of what they're doing _before_ they actually do it."

Hanna's face scrunches into lines of disagreement. They'd had this argument many times before, in various forms, and they both always came out on opposite sides. When Jane thought about it rationally, she actually found it rather amusing that someone who, more-than-likely, didn't even _exist_ was able to cause such contention between the two of them. Not that either of them would ever let it impact their friendship; they just always ended up agreeing to disagree. But at the same time, neither gave up in trying to persuade the other one over to their way of thinking either... More often than not though, it was Hanna who brought up the topic of 'Batman verses Reality'; Jane wasn't much into thinking about things that had no actual bearing on her day-to-day life.

Predictably, Hanna concludes her side of the dispute with the words: "Well, I think he's helping the situation."

"And I think he's an example of sensationalist media at its worst. It's just like that article a few weeks back – what did they label that gang, again? The ones who robbed the gem depositary? Oh yeah: the '_False-Facers_'! I mean, how ridiculous can you get?" Jane scoffs before continuing emphatically, "Trust me; if there _is_ a guy dressing up as a bat, he's no hero. He's just some reporter who's _that_ _desperate_ to get a headline story." Having been subject to the media's attention throughout most of her life because of her family's wealth and influence within the city, Jane didn't hold them in very high regard, not least because of the fact that she'd seen first-hand how some of them would do absolutely _anything_ in order to get a scoop, never mind about such things as morals or privacy or even common human decency…

Hanna sniffs in disagreement again but obviously decides to let the subject drop. This is further evidenced by her next words. "Well, _anyway_," she states firmly, "back to the reason why I wanted you to meet me. I want to talk to you about something."

"Yes, I gathered that from your text," Jane comments bemusedly before putting her coffee down and deftly extracting her cell from her jacket pocket. With raised eyebrows, she reads Hanna's text aloud: " _'Jane. I want to talk to you about something. Can you meet me in the park opposite the hospital after your last class?'_ Never let it be said, Han, that you don't know how to get to a point," she jokes before putting the phone away again. Then she lays her hand over her friend's and pulls a solemn face, "But tell me honestly now: _Are_ you breaking up with me?"

"Ha, ha," Hanna drawls acerbically, yanking her hand away. "You're _so_ hilarious." Her chocolate hued eyes are distinctly un-amused.

"It's a gift," Jane replies, with an airy self-mockery. She retakes her cup and downs another swig of coffee before looking back over and prompting in a more genuine tone, "So, what's up?"

"Right, well…" Hanna begins and then, quite uncharacteristically, seems to ponder over how to phrase whatever she wanted to say next. This was odd because, normally, Hanna didn't hesitate over anything. She starts again, "Okay, so, you know how I hardly _ever_ back down from a fight with someone who I think deserves it – even if I'm completely overwhelmed, out-numbered and out-gunned?" Truth be told, Hanna was only _slightly_ exaggerating here.

"Ye-ah," Jane answers slowly, not at all sure what had impelled her friend to bring up such a subject. "Don't tell me you've got in a fight with someone?"

"No of course not – everyone loves me." Hanna waves away Jane's concerns with a dismissive hand.

"Of course," Jane agrees with wry humour.

"No, this about you."

"Me?" Jane now felt totally mystified. _She_ certainly hadn't got in a fight with anyone – that she knew of, anyway.

"It's about you and this Roman Sionis guy."

Jane just about manages not to choke on her coffee. _He_ was the very last person she had expected Hanna to bring up. "Okay, firstly; _never_ join my name with that man's – under _any_ circumstances," she admonishes whilst giving a full-body shudder (which was only slightly exaggerated). "And secondly; _what the hell are you talking about? _I haven't even seen him since Veronica's party."

"Yes, that's what I'm getting to," Hanna replies impatiently. Clearly, she was eager to share whatever it was that was weighing on her mind so Jane maintains a respectful silence as she continues. "Now, my point is: I know that you often share my tendency of being unafraid to stand up to people who, for reason or another,_ absolutely deserve it_ – and god knows, there are enough of them in this world. However…" Now Hanna's voice slows, becoming much more sombre so that the next words were absolutely clear as she looked Jane directly in the eye. "I really don't want you to do that with this guy, okay?"

Jane was still struggling to understand exactly what her friend was getting at… "Do what, exactly?" she asks for clarification.

"_Don't get in a fight with Roman Sionis!_" Hanna exclaims as if Jane was being deliberately dense.

"Well, obviously I know not to do that!" Jane replies with light-hearted exasperation. She couldn't believe _this_ was what Hanna had been worried about. "I know he's bad news – that's the very reason why I was so concerned about the possibility of dad getting into business with him!"

Hanna's serious expression doesn't fade. "Yes, but I mean I don't want you to even go _near_ him; don't speak to him, don't make eye contact with him and, most definitely, _don't_ antagonise him."

"Where's all this coming from?" Jane can't help but enquire.

"It's coming from what happened at the party."

Straightaway, Jane goes to defend herself, "Hey, he was the one who sought me out, not the other way around!"

"Yes, and that's what's got me concerned," Hanna rejoinders instantly. "I _saw_ the way he was looking at you, Jane. A man like that is clearly used to getting respect, and when he doesn't get it, the results are never gonna be good for anyone. And now that I've actually done some reading up on him, he must have connections in some _really_ high places to get away with all he's been accused of. So, just keep well away from him, okay? Promise me."

Jane couldn't help but think that Hanna was being rather over-protective here. She says as much, "I thought _I_ was supposed to be the paranoid worrier in this relationship?"

"Jane, I _mean it_." It had been quite a while since she'd seen Hanna this determined. "Stay away from him."

"It's not like I even go out of my way to speak with him anyway!" Jane points out.

"Jane, just promise me. _Please_."

"Okay, okay," Jane finally says, holding her hands up to show compliance. "Look, if it'll make you feel better, I promise you, if he comes near me again, I'll just walk away." She watches as Hanna's face relaxes slightly. "Besides , dad's assured me that he's _not_ going to go into business with him and from my, ahem," Jane shifts rather guiltily, " _'sources'_ in the office, Sionis hasn't visited him again. So there's no reason why I would even see him – unless, of course, we run into each other at another function, but he's bound to get bored with showing up for those sooner or later." Jane found it ironic that Hanna was the one needing reassurance; it felt like their regular roles within the friendship had been completely reversed.

"Alright. Good," Hanna says as her tension visibly lessens even more. "Just… Just make sure you stay away from him, okay?" She points a stern finger at Jane again.

"Yes, yes, I promise," Jane placates. Whilst she may personally feel that Hanna was overacting, it took a lot to put her friend on edge and she certainly didn't want to see her upset, so it was with sincere honesty that Jane agreed to her request. And really, it's not like she was going to _miss_ her interactions with Roman Sionis.

As it turned out, though, the next time Jane spoke with him, it wasn't face to face…

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

**A/N: I know, I know; it's another filler chapter, I'm afraid. But in the next chapter, interesting things do start to happen, I promise. (I feel like I'm saying that a lot with regard to this fic… :-S) **

**As always, feel free to leave some encouragement in the box below – just so I know I'm not completely wasting my time with posting this! ;) Many thanks to those who have already done so – it is appreciated! :)**

**x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, a slap on the wrist for the naughty author who lied! :-S **

**This chapter **_**isn't**_** the one that I'd previously promised, but it came upon me suddenly after thinking that the beginnings of the story would benefit from having a glimpse into Roman Sionis' viewpoint, as well as explaining how he and Jane met in the first place and where their mutual hostility had been born from. So, if you're still with me, please read on to see into Black Mask's disturbing mind! **

**And I swear, the **_**next**_** chapter really will be when the plot for this fic starts to take shape! ;P**

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Roman Sionis was not a nice man. In fact, he prided himself on not being a nice man. For Roman Sionis gave very little value to the opinions of others. He saw no advantage to being popular, well thought-of, or being next in line for some worthless humanitarian award.

No, what Roman Sionis valued most of all in the world was _power_. What he valued second of all (and that went also hand-in-hand with power) was _respect_.

Those two things were what he sought above all others, and what he worked tirelessly to earn. Indeed, it had taken a lot of effort to carve out for himself the position that he was now in; namely, that of being the most powerful and influential man within the whole of Gotham City. A lot of blood had been spilled in order for him to achieve this – of course, none of that blood had actually been _his_, but it all amounted to the same in the end.

However, it could also be stated with a large degree of accuracy that Roman Sionis was a _vengeful_ man as well. He did not take kindly to those who slighted him – through whatever means – and the secret chamber located beneath Sionis Industries tower was certainly a testament to that fact. For within that room, referred to by his subordinates as his 'private office', lay the evidence of just how far he was willing to go in the name of revenge. Yes, the blood stained walls, from which hung equally blood stained manacles, had borne witness many, many times of just how much pain Roman could willingly inflict on others: Horrific levels of torture that would turn even the strongest stomach, until whichever sad whelp that had been foolish enough to get on his bad side would wholeheartedly _beg_ him to end their pathetic little lives. A request which Roman, of course, always refused; _he_ would be the one to decide when someone's life deserved to end, no one else.

It was this reason, along with a few others, that had given him the needed edge to advance his status to such a lofty one. Truth be told, Roman felt quite pleased with the way everything had turned out for him…

_With the exception of one tiny detail. _

It was the kind of detail that, when it first appears – in the midst of a GCPD Widows and Orphans Fundraiser held two years ago – you don't really pay any attention to it. Particularly if you've seen enough _jumped-up little tarts_ from the families of the rich and famous to last you a lifetime… Nonetheless, this 'little detail', during her first outing as a proper member of Gotham's High Society, has her presence made known to you by her moronic oaf of a father, simply because said oaf had nothing else to do since his wife clocked it but introduce his daughter to all and sundry.

In and of itself, this hadn't been a particular problem. For it was a necessity (albeit one that he had never cared for) in someone of his ever-growing status that Roman knew how to be polite to people whom he would just as easily kill as shake their hand. In fact, that was one of the reasons why he'd been attending the GCPD function to start with – even if it was rather ironic, since he himself had (unbeknownst to everyone else, of course) been the reason why a large majority of the widows and orphans now held such titles.

No, being introduced to the little Sinclair girl hadn't been an issue. Roman had just nodded his head in acknowledgement whilst the rest of the small gathering that he'd been part of gave the tedious greetings and well-wishes to the newest member of Gotham's Upper Class.

The problem had come about when the girl had made a point to address everyone by name and say how nice it was to meet them, as well as commenting on something that related to their personal business or interests. This had had the effect of charming the others since most of them were nothing more lecherous old men anyway, and to be complimented by a pretty girl (even if she was barely seventeen) was something they obviously enjoyed.

But when it had come for Roman to have his 'turn', the girl hadn't held out her hand for him to shake (or kiss, as some of the others had done, but he sure as hell wasn't going to do that). Instead she'd given a demure nod of her head, and then, without missing a beat, had gone on to say (with such ingenuous innocence it was a wonder she hadn't choked on it): "Mr Sionis, I must say I am quite surprised to see you here – given your recent contentions with Gotham Police Department, I mean. Tell, how is the investigation into your company going at the moment?"

You could have cut the ensuing silence with a knife. At that moment, it had seemed that everyone, not just in their little group but in the entire hall, had heard the young Sinclair's comment.

Because of his not-so-subtle reputation (which was such by design, not accident), no one had ever been so bold as to call him out on the less-than-favourable inquiries that were sometimes made against him or his company (usually by some upstart who hadn't yet learnt about the way things ran in Gotham or, even more irritatingly, someone who believed in that most ludicrous of creeds; 'justice').

In that moment, Roman had wanted more than anything to draw his automatic pistol from its concealed holster and shoot the _little bitch_ right between the eyes. Within his mind, he had imagined how the blood spray as it exploded from the back of her skull would've soaked through the pearlescent cream gown that flowed so serenely around her puny body.

Unfortunately, (or maybe not so much since _even he_ would've had a slightly tricky time walking away from a kill shot made at point-blank range in front of room full of witnesses), the girl's father had stepped between them, his pudgy features puce with embarrassment.

"Ahaha – I'm so sorry, Roman," the man had stammered. "She was only, err – she doesn't really know what she's talking about."

Before he'd had even had chance to respond, the bitch had opened her mouth again, stepping forward boldly so that her words carried clearly.

"I assure you, father, I've been following the case with great care," she'd said as her gaze had moved back to Roman. His own stare had been one that, in the past, had caused his enemies to piss their pants in fear, but the bitch hadn't even blinked – she'd just kept right on running her mouth: "And I was just interested to know how someone who's been accused of money laundering and drug trafficking felt about being surrounded by the very people who are supposed to be investigating him with an utterly _impartial_ viewpoint – something I imagine might be quite difficult to do if he's busy socialising with them as well." Her tone was the perfect imitation of innocent curiosity, and had it not been for the unwavering directness in her look, he may have believed it to be so.

Suddenly the idea of shooting her between the eyes hadn't seemed like enough to Roman. He'd had the urge to instead drag her away to his torture chamber where he could've cut out that obnoxious tongue of hers and then shoved it back down her throat, holding her mouth closed until she'd been forced to swallow. Then he would've skinned her alive, taking carnal pleasure from the damaged notes that would be torn out of her throat like the wounded cries of a dying beast.

His daydreaming had been cut short once again when her father reappeared between them. Beads of sweat had littered his balding head as he'd regurgitated his earnest but pointless apologies, and then he'd forcibly ushered his daughter away.

The girl had acquiesced at first, taking a few steps back, but then had stopped to lean in and say with genial sincerity: "It was a pleasure to meet the rest of you." Her smile had met with every pair of eyes but his. She'd walked away – or at least been hustled away – with her head held high.

For his part, Roman had quickly schooled his features back to placidity… but internally, he'd been _seething_.

That had been his first encounter with Jane Sinclair, but it was not to be the last.

As was expected of a child from one of the wealthiest families in Gotham, she'd quickly become part of its upper class scene, attending various functions and events along with her father, as well as numerous charitable events – it was said that her mother, before she'd passed, had instilled in the girl the importance of sharing your wealth with those less fortunate; a downright absurd notion (in Roman's opinion, anyway) but one which the junior Sinclair, it soon became clear, had evidently embraced to the full.

Much to Roman's consternation and despite the way she'd spoken to him when they'd first met, the bitch managed to not only inveigle herself into the good graces of nearly every other Gotham socialite, but did so whilst making it perfectly clear her distrust and distaste with regard to him. This didn't adversely affect him or the relationships he held with others (they were all too afraid of him to even try to distance themselves, no matter what anyone said), but it did have the effect of severely _pissing him off_.

Thus, it was at one particularly tedious gathering, that he had made a point to seek out Jane Sinclair, ensuring to catch her when she was alone.

She hadn't looked at all pleased to turn round and find him standing there; the planes of her face immediately setting into lines of displeasure. After muttering a customary greeting, she'd gone to walk away but he had blocked her attempt by stepping directly in front of her, caging her in between his body and the wall at her back.

She hadn't looked scared, or even mildly apprehensive. Instead she'd just looked up at him, _bored_.

Once more, he'd had to stifle the urge not to simply choke the insolent life from her lungs. Truth was, he realised that he'd left it too late; because of her efforts, she had become a target that was too high-profile. Sure, he may have been able to get away with organising a kidnapping, perhaps covering it up as a ransom, but there would've been such an uproar, from both the high and low alike, that the police would've been compelled to tear the city apart looking for her – _and it wouldn't have taken long for her dislike of him to be brought up._

In view of this, and the fact that he could foresee William Sinclair as being a useful asset in the future, Roman had determined to at least attempt conversation with her.

He didn't beat around the bush. He was a direct man at the best of times and he wasn't one to stand on ceremony. He'd come right out with it:

"Miss Sinclair, I've sought you out because I find myself intrigued by the animosity you evidently hold against me. Care to explain what crime it is I've committed against you to warrant such an attitude?" His tone hadn't been inviting. In actual fact, it had sounded more like a threat than an invitation, but he didn't let that concern him.

The girl had eyed him through narrowed lids for a long, contemplative moment. Were he not so infuriated by it, he may have respected her boldness.

After evidently coming to a decision, she had spoken with grim solemnity. "For your information, I happened to share a number of classes with Edward Elgar's daughter. Before her and her mother left Gotham, she confided in me about a variety of… _troubling suspicions_ she had regarding her father's death."

Roman had taken this information in: _That_ had explained where the girl's animosity for him had originally sprung from.

Edward Elgar had been a small-time business man in Gotham who'd run a reasonably profitable shipping company. For a number of reasons, Roman had decided that it would be advantageous for him to have a foothold in such an enterprise. Unfortunately, Elgar hadn't exactly felt the same way. Not even a visit from Roman's muscle-bound thugs had been able to convince him otherwise. So, Roman had taken the only option left open to him; he'd had Elgar killed, forged the books so that it appeared Elgar had been embezzling funds, and had then brought up the company for his own. The death had been covered up as a suicide and the police had quickly ruled it as such, but he remembered that the mother and daughter had always had their suspicions… Obviously though, they hadn't ever been able find a shred of evidence that led to him, and soon enough the widow Elgar and her daughter had moved away to Italy and he'd given the matter no more thought. Until now.

Roman had decided to see just how deep the young Sinclair's convictions ran – since it was always useful to know such information for future reference. "I can assure you, Miss Sinclair, that I was as saddened as anyone when I heard about Edward's untimely demise." He'd waited for her reaction.

Not even a crack had appeared in the mask of aversion that was so plainly written across her features. Instead, she'd done the unthinkable; she'd actually closed the gap between them, stepping up to him and speaking without the merest hint of trepidation.

"And I can assure you, Mr Sionis, that I know _a wolf in sheep's clothing_ when I see one. Even if you do take on the disguise of a sheep rather… _literally_." Her eyes had then dropped to rove over the whiteness of his suit with sardonic deliberateness.

Then, for the _second_ time, she'd turned and walked away from him; not looking back, her spine straight and strong.

No one had witnessed the look that had come into his eyes afterwards.

If they had, they would've thought that the devil himself may have possessed him.

But Roman Sionis had no need of devils… Not when he himself already was one.

It was then that Roman had decided that he would make Jane Sinclair pay for her disrespect. One way or another, he would find a way to tear apart that perfect, unsullied life of hers. She thought she knew the worst that he was capable of?! He would teach her just who he _really_ was…

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Yes, I know that it's been over a month since I last updated. The lack of activity isn't through a loss of inspiration, but because RL has been less than kind as of late. I seem to have been bombarded with one thing after another, making it hard just to find some time to myself, let alone time to sit down and actually write something!**

**But the kind reviews by you all did help with that, and gave me that extra incentive to actually get this chapter done and posted – so, as always, a big thanks to everyone that's reviewed! :)**

**But enough talk – on with the chapter! A word of warning for this one: there are a few swearwords scattered about, in keeping with the rising tensions! **

**Hope you enjoy…**

***.*.*.*.*.***

The sky loomed dark and overcast, a sure sign that rain would be hitting Gotham's streets before nightfall.

Despite this, there was a familiar buzz about the campus of Gotham University. An aura of excited anticipation permeated its way through the air as students hurried to and fro; traversing the well-used paths that ran from one majestically gothic building to another while they made their way from one class to the next.

It was Friday afternoon and, like always, the students were eagerly looking forward to the approaching end of their week, planning various ways to make use of their free time – or make _waste_ of their free time, depending upon the type of student they were.

Jane's pumps slapped out a steady beat as she expertly weaved her way around the many groups of chattering people, some hanging about the entranceways whilst others lingered along the gray flagstone paths. Despite the jovial atmosphere, very few students took any notice of her. This was largely because, while she wouldn't call herself unpopular, exactly, Jane had never gone out of her way to be part of the 'in-crowd'. It had become a long-standing custom for her to hold herself back from engaging in the regular diversions that accompanied school and university life. This reticence on her part had often led some of the more… _outspoken_ students (mostly of the female variety who held little care for anything in the world beyond outward appearances and the size of their trust funds) to label her as being stuck-up or prudish – and those were the nicer terms.

Ultimately though, Jane's choice of conduct came down to her knowing, even from a very early age, that if she were to do anything brash or foolish (as tended to accompany the lives of the young and wealthy), she would inevitably bring disrepute on her family. She had never resented them for this. Quite the contrary, she'd always known that her parent's loved her enough _not_ to condemn her for any stupid mistakes she may make, even if it did bring unwanted media attention upon them or spotlight them in the gossip columns of the Gotham Gazette.

In fact, it was because of knowing this, knowing that her parents did love her so very much, that had made Jane even more determined to be a good daughter, to be someone responsible and someone that her family could be proud of; hence the reason why, at University, she was much more often seen studying than socialising with her peers. Of course, it was different with Hanna. With Hanna, she could say or do anything, knowing that her confidence would never be betrayed, even if she did embarrass herself or get into a sticky situation that the papers would have a field day with. Jane unequivocally knew that, even if Hanna was offered all the money in the world, her loyalty would never waiver.

All this wasn't to say that Jane was a total recluse on campus. She always tried to be friendly with those she met (who weren't of the 'trust fund brigade' at least) and many people did like her, even if they didn't really _know_ her.

As such, there were a small number of people who caught her eye and waved, or said a friendly greeting in passing to which Jane responded in kind. Her mind, though, remained on other things; most notably the shopping trip that she and Hanna had planned for tomorrow morning. It was another outing in the never-ending quest to find Hanna a wedding dress that was, in Hanna's own words: 'utterly jaw-dropping but something that's not going to bankrupt me into the next century'.

So far, the girls had managed to find several wedding dresses that filled one of those criteria, but, despite many, many hours of searching, had not been able to find one that filled _both_, and even though Jane had sincerely pleaded with Hanna to just let _her_ pay for the dress, Hanna (out of her own prideful stubbornness) remained staunch in her refusal. Her friend had never once taken advantage of the fact that Jane's family was (without sounding pretentious) exceedingly wealthy and influential, something that Jane found alternately endearing and frustrating, depending upon the situation. In this particular instance, it was the latter – Jane would've liked nothing more than to pay for the entire wedding, including the honeymoon, since Hanna's father wasn't (and had never really been) in the picture and Hanna and Zeke's own families certainly didn't have an overabundance of money to spare.

As it was, Hanna had only allowed Jane to pay for the honeymoon – and even that had involved a lot of fighting over what was and wasn't 'too expensive'.

So Jane had, with only a little whining on her part, resigned herself to aiding Hanna in her search. Honestly, Jane had never known just how many wedding shops there were in Gotham – you'd think there was a wedding going on every day of the week!

The sudden ringing of her cell breaks her silent contemplations. Jane's hand delves into her jacket pocket for the slim device, her thumb automatically pressing the accept call button as she raises it up to her ear.

The voice she hears on the other end is so utterly unexpected that it stops her in her tracks.

"Miss Sinclair."

Jane halts dead in the middle of the busy campus. "…_Mr Sionis?_" she questions incredulously, the only emotion in her tone being that of honest bewilderment.

"Correct."

"How the hell did you get hold of my cellphone number?" are Jane's next words. It was a very private number known only to her and a few select others. Roman Sionis was the very last person who should have it.

Her only answer is a rasping, self-assured drawl of, "That's really not what's important at the moment."

Jane's surprise begins to ebb away, a sliver of uneasiness rising to take its place. Something was wrong. Sionis sounded almost… _happy?_ She'd never heard him sound that way before. Before she can think on it more, his voice cuts through:

"I want you to come by my office," he tells her.

"And why on earth would I do that?" she challenges immediately.

"Because I have something here that you want to see."

"I very much doubt that you have anything that would be of interest to me, Mr Sionis," Jane states firmly, angry now that the man had somehow not only managed to get hold of her private number but also had the audacity to call her – it wasn't like they were friends! She's about to hang up but the words of his next statement stop her.

"It concerns your father, Miss Sinclair. And your _family's company_."

There's a pause as this information sinks in; as Jane's mind digests what Sionis has just said. _Could he be lying_, is the first idea that comes to her. _He could be_, but what would be the point? And he sounded so sure… Finally, she asks with suspicious caution, "What is it?"

"Just come. You know where my office is. Come by after your classes and we can… _have a discussion_." He gives her not a moment to ponder the foreboding pleasure in his voice before the line goes dead.

Jane continues to stand in the middle of the pathway, her eyes unfocused in front of her as the phone lies silent in her palm.

After a long moment, she weakly draws it away from her ear. She stares down at the glossy screen as her brain struggles to come to terms with what's just happened. She no longer hears the hustle and bustle of those around her, nor the wind whipping its way through the lines of trees on either side of the path. The only thing she can hear are Sionis' words echoing in her mind. _It concerns your father… and your family's company… _

…

She doesn't go to the rest of her classes.

Instead, she goes straight to his office.

She marches through the thick, glass doors and into the plush foyer, the Sionis name illuminated slickly above the main reception desk. Somewhere between her leaving the campus and the cab ride across town, Jane's initial unease had turned to ire. She had reasoned with herself that if, indeed, there was anything to do with the business that she should be worried about, she would've found out about it before now. After all, she did keep a close eye on how everything at Sinclair Inc. was running, not only for experience but because she'd simply grown up with it, and when she eventually did take over from her father, she wanted the business to continue to flourish. For it to do that she had to understand how everything operated – and she did! Ergo, if _Roman-Fucking-Sionis_ had had any dealings with her company, Jane would've known about it. As it was, she didn't, so he clearly hadn't.

The only thing that she _was_ sure of was that Sionis had somehow gotten hold of her phone number and decided to get his jollies off by calling her up and spooking her out.

Well, Jane was going to find out just what 'information' Sionis thought she should know – and then, when it proved to be as inconsequential as it must be, she was going to shove it back down his throat, along with a few choice words of her own.

Though the two receptionists at the front desk look up at her expectantly, Jane doesn't even glance at them. This wasn't some kind of social call after all. She does, however, look at the two security guards stationed a little ways in front of her; two exceedingly burly men whose crossed arms caused huge biceps to bulge unsightly underneath stretched fabric. They were blocking the entrance that led deeper into the building, not to mention the way to the elevator.

Just as Jane is working out what to say to them though (preferably without a copious amount of swearwords), they step aside, unbarring the entryway for her. _Wait a minute – they'd clearly been told to expect her._ For some reason this fact fuelled Jane's righteous anger even more. Not only had Sionis the audacity to call her in the middle of University, but he'd been so sure of her coming over here that he'd instructed his staff to expect her – even if she arrived several hours early!

She finds her way to the elevator and practically punches the call button. Throughout her life, Jane had been in more luxury office buildings than she could count and since the vast majority were all essentially similar in design, she had no trouble figuring out that Sionis' office would be on the top floor. Thankfully, the elevator compartment was empty and she's able to take the ride up alone, endeavouring to collect herself somewhat before she did something very rash like punch someone's face in.

Once the doors slide open, it's obvious where to go next. There was only one other entrance; directly in front of her. The doors were made of thick glass again, but this time it was clouded so that you couldn't see through into the next room. All you could see were the words 'Sionis Industries' printed in solid black letters right at eye level.

Jane pushes her way inside.

Beyond is another plush foyer, but this time there's only one receptionist; a girl wearing too low a top to be sitting down, with hair that was so blonde it was almost white. The bronze name plaque at the front of the desk declared her to be one 'Crystal Sabine'.

Jane knows her expression is sour as she strides up. "I'm here to see Sionis," she practically bites out. Sure, it wasn't necessarily 'Crystal's' fault that she worked for an asshole, but Jane wasn't in the mood for reasonableness at the moment.

Crystal's overly made-up eyes blink back at her with a sereneness that's so blunt it borders on haughty. The tiny shred of guilt that had chided Jane for being rude towards a potentially innocent party recedes completely at that look, while her patience wears even thinner.

"Mr Sionis is currently in a meeting," Crystal pronounces with a malicious, and totally undisguised, kind of satisfaction. She holds out a perfectly manicured hand towards the line of empty chairs occupying the far wall. "You'll have to take a seat and I'll let him know–"

"Oh, fuck it!" Jane cuts over the girl, her patience finally snapping.

Out of the six doors that lead off the reception area, three were located behind the expansive reception desk. Jane quickly figures that the centre one was a back office for Crystal which left two possible choices; the door to the far right or the one that was closer to the window. Jane chooses the window one, hoping she guessed right – otherwise she was going to be very angry _and_ very embarrassed.

Crystal lunges to stop her, but, obviously realising that she wasn't going to get to Jane in time (and that she wouldn't be able to stop her without some serious fighting going on), quickly thinks better of it, abruptly turning and speeding back over to the intercom on her desk. Jane barely hears her speaking into it before she's flung the chosen doors back on their hinges and marched inside.

The sight that greets her is _not_ the one she expected.

She's not really sure just what she _had_ expected. Sionis lounging in his chair maybe, having a pleasurably lengthy smoke whilst knowing full well that she was being kept waiting outside. Him and another suit talking over a bunch of papers. Sionis on the phone…

But she saw none of these things.

No, what Jane saw when she slammed open the two, incredibly thick, wooden doors was Sionis standing tall and proud behind his desk, a look of casual but ultimately disdainful interest written across his features–

–whilst no less than _five_ of the most dubious-looking, musclebound, suspect-inducing figures that Jane had ever seen in her life were all stood in a semicircle on the other side of the desk.

What was even more scary though, was the fact that when Jane had banged open the doors, said five men had simultaneously all drawn five different firearms – all of which were now pointed directly _at Jane_.

Her whole body freezes on the spot.

There's one utterly still moment when no one makes a single move.

Then – in the part of her mind that hasn't gone numb with shock – Jane hears Sionis' dry voice:

"Ah, Jane. You're early."

Without any conscious thought on her part, her eyes snap to the man in white – _who'd just spoken as if there was absolutely nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary about the current situation_.

Sionis (sounding practically _bored_) speaks again, raising an idle hand in her direction, complete with half-smoked cigarette. "Gentlemen, I know you're all familiar with Miss Jane Sinclair."

Jane blinks in shock as her eyes dart back to the men. The guns had vanished. _Vanished!_ It was like they'd never even been there in the first place – and if it weren't for the significant bulges under their suit jackets, which now seemed painfully obvious, she almost could have believed it.

All the men were now looking at her, but without any kind of surprise or acknowledgement. Jane was more disturbed by the way Sionis had phrased her 'introduction' to them; they were all _familiar_ with her? Was that because they kept up with Gotham's eminent families (because they certainly didn't look like the type to pour over the society pages…) or for some other, more sinister, reason? Had Sionis talked about her to them?! Jane's mind was reeling to keep up with the wild directions that her thoughts were taking.

"Mr Sionis, I'm so sorry!"

Jane's head whips back to see Crystal hovering over the entranceway, one long fingered, red-nailed hand on the door handle. For a half second, cowl-slicked eyes stab at Jane before they dodge neatly – and substantially more _meekly_ – back to her employer.

"Not to worry, Crystal. I doubt if Jane was particularly cooperative in the matter."

Jane's head jerks back round but Sionis' gaze isn't on her. He's carelessly stubbing out his cigarette into a well-used ashtray on his desk. Then, with a jerk of his hand, he barks to the room in general, "Leave us, all of you."

The room is vacated almost instantly and within seconds Jane hears the click of the doors being firmly closed, no doubt by the hands of Crystal.

Jane is left feeling like fish out of water, still too stunned by everything that had just happened to really do anything. She looks back across the empty room to see Sionis taking out a fresh cigarette and lighting up. His eyes meet hers as he takes a long drag.

Strangely enough, locking gazes with those –regrettably_ familiar_ – callous black orbs is what helps shake Jane from her frozen state.

She takes a several steps forward, confidently.

"Who were they?" she questions bluntly, not even considering waiting for him to speak first.

Sionis doesn't play dumb, but he doesn't miss a beat either. "Some business associates of mine."

Jane hadn't really expected him to confess who they really were – particularly not to her – but she didn't want to shy away from the topic either, even if the sight of those men (and more importantly, their guns) had made her heart leap into her throat. "They didn't look particularly… _business-like_," she challenges.

"Well, that's hardly my fault, is it?" Sionis snaps. "It's not like I dress them in the morning."

Now that her mind wasn't spinning quite as much, Jane is able to take notice of how his voice seemed to be... coarser, rougher than what she was used to hearing from him. Not that his voice had ever been what one would smooth (or pleasant, for that matter) but now that she was here, _in his own territory_, he just seemed… nastier. Not only that, but seeing the type of 'associates' that Sionis held was something Jane didn't wish to repeat anytime soon – it was one thing to know that someone was into dodgy dealings, it was quite another to be confronted with it first-hand.

Jane's eyes narrow in renewed dislike. "What am I here for?" she demands, choosing to get down to the reason why she was in his office in the first place and forcefully shunting back the rest of her thoughts to mull over at a later time.

She spies a strange glint that suddenly sparks in the blackness of Sionis' eyes, but when he speaks his voice is devoid of emotion.

"Ah, yes," he replies idly. "You may want to sit down." He waves his cigarette in the vague direction of the two chairs in front of his desk, before taking another drag.

"I can assure you, I _don't_ want to sit down," Jane asserts stubbornly. "Just tell me why I'm here – what this _thing_ is that pertains to my father and my company."

The cigarette is drawn away from his mouth again, a small cloud of smoke escaping from his lips as he answers, with an indifferent shrug, "Very well."

Jane watches as Sionis leans down. She hears the opening click of a drawer. He pulls out a manila envelope and then chucks it towards her. It skids to a halt less than an inch away from the dark wooden edge of the desk, causing the papers inside to be dislodged slightly but not enough for her to actually see anything that was written on them.

Jane looks down at the envelope for a moment and then back up. "And that is?" she prompts.

"Why don't you try _opening_ _it_?" Sionis practically sneers, but still with that strange look in his eye.

Jane observes him for a moment before covering the last few steps to the desk. She gives him one last look before taking hold of the envelope's cover and flicking it open.

Her eyes skim over the front page, full of small print. Nothing leaps out at her as to why she should be so interested in this.

"What is this supposed to be?" Jane asks in a fed up tone; she really was getting _very_ tired _very_ quickly of being cooped up in this stinky, smoke-filled room with _him_ watching her like some kind of oversized white crow waiting for its next meal.

He tsks condescendingly at her. "Honestly, Jane. Don't those prestigious classes at Gotham U teach you how to recognise a legally binding contract when you see one?"

Her eyes fall back down to the papers. She moves her hand out and takes hold of the first leaf. She turns it over. There's more print on the second page. Again, nothing much stands out to her, though it did seem to be a contract of some sort... She finally turns over to the last page–

And blinks as she recognises her father's signature.

Her _father's signature_…

Jane frowns confusedly and leans forward to look closer.

And closer still.

For a moment time seems to slow down. And then it seems to stop altogether, as though the world itself halts on its axis and the only thing that Jane can see is _that_ _signature_ in front of her. And the only thing she can hear is the beating of her own heart in her eardrums.

It's as if she's not in control of her own body when she sees her trembling hand reach out to turn back a page. And then another. And whereas before no words seemed to jump out at her, now she can't stop her eyes from picking them out:

_-'I, the undersigned'-_

_-'conclude this contract'-_

_-'legally binding'-_

_-'to the transfer of sole __ownership rights of the company known as Sinclair Incorporated, hereon to be referred to as Sinclair Inc.'-_

_-'including, but not limited to, all of its assets, both national and international'-_

_-to one Roman Garth Sionis, hereon to be referred to as Roman Sionis'-_

_-'understand'-_

_-'legal commitment to uphold'-_

_-'legally binding transaction'-_

_-'agree in full to the terms and conditions as set out in this agreement'-_

_-'signed below'-_

_-'William James Sinclair'-_

_-'William James Sinclair'-_

_-'William James Sinclair'-…_

All Jane can do is stare down at the evidence there in black and white. And even though she turns the pages back and forth, _back and forth_, trying to find something – _anything_… It doesn't change.

Not one word changes. Though Jane's mind is practically screaming inside her, 'this isn't right–this _can't_ be right', that signature _doesn't change_.

In the end all that leaves her mouth is the weakest murmur. "Oh my god…"

She feels herself sinking down onto the chair she'd so indignantly refused earlier, her hands still trembling as she continues to hold onto the pages, as she continues to stare down at them.

"Your company belongs to me, Jane."

The voice floats its way into her head; slithering its way through the disbelieving, uncomprehending fog that was now clouding her consciousness.

It takes a long while for Jane to even remember who the voice belonged to...

When she does, it lights a fire.

A fire that burns away the numbness and sends her hurtling back to her feet. She whirls round to find him no longer behind his desk, but beside her – not close, but much closer than he had been.

"What–" she stutters now through her anger, "_What the hell is this?!_"

"A perfectly legitimate transaction, I assure you." He still had the damn cigarette between his fingers, still lazily smoking it as he watched her through heavy lidded eyes. "It's all there."

"This… This isn't – this can't be…" She shoves the papers in his direction, pointing them at him. "My father wouldn't _ever_ risk the company like this. He wouldn't!"

"But he did, Jane. That's the trouble with vices, I'm afraid. They do tend to lead you to some rather dark places."

_Vices? What was he talking about?_ Her mind was spinning, suddenly throwing back in her face every suspicion she'd had over the past several months – no, not months… Make that _years_. For years she'd been seeing – or rather trying _not_ to see – that something, _something_ had been wrong with her father. Something had been... _different_ about him.

But not this. Never this.

Not whatever it was that had lead him to do this – to sell _his own_ company into the hands of Sionis!

She grits her teeth, her breath whooshing out of her. "You did this," she snarls at the only other occupant in the room. She takes a step closer, "You – you must have tricked him, somehow."

"Ask him yourself," he replies with complete unconcern.

He was calm. He was so calm – _why was he so calm?!_ Jane felt like her insides were being ripped apart and he was just stood there before her as though he hadn't got the faintest care in the entire world.

She can hear how heavy her breathing is. It was pretty much the only sound in the entire room. Her lungs were pumping both with anger and something else – something far worse. Because it was _there_. She looks down again at the papers. It was _there_.

Truth…

Binding.

Legal.

Inescapable.

_Truth_.

She turns away from him. Turns away to pace restlessly to the other side of the room, flipping through the pages once again. Flipping fitfully. Frantically. Futilely…

_Truth._

She slams the pages back together again and spins back round on her heel.

She takes a deep breath.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, her voice only betraying the slightest tremor. "There are people who need our company, who _need_ their jobs there." Why on earth she decided to say that, she didn't know. It just came out. People she'd known her whole life depended on the jobs that her father's company gave them. She cared about those people, deeply. It was natural for her to care about what would happen to them, to their own families.

But why would _he_ care? Answer: he _wouldn't_.

"Well, I suppose your father should have thought about them before he took to gambling, then."

Jane closes her eyes.

_Gambling_.

The purely rational part of her mind supposed it made sense. Why else would someone sign away their entire life's work if not for an addiction that they couldn't control? And her father had always liked the thrill of a bet, even before her mother died. But to do this – to do _this_… How could he? How _could_ he?

She swallows, forcing too-little saliva past the too-big lump that was clogging her throat. Her eyelids peel themselves back open, reluctantly.

"Why?" she sighs wearily. "Why the hell did you bring me here? Just to show me this – just to rub it in my face?!"

"To the contrary, Jane–"

"Will you _stop_ calling me by my name!" Anger's flame flares again, but only for the briefest moment. All too soon it's crushed by the burgeoning despair.

"I'll call you whatever I want."

Jane just looks at him tiredly, his arrogance now nothing more than another reason to hate him. But it was far from being the worst reason. She rubs a hand over her face, not allowing her mind to think too much. Not yet. In just a matter of moments her world has completely crumbled around her and if she allowed herself to actually contemplate the _full_ repercussions… Well, let's just say, she wouldn't still be standing upright.

Her eyes flick down the papers again, now crumpled and bent because of how tightly she'd been holding onto them.

"I'm going to go to my father," she announces.

She doesn't look back at him as she turns towards the doorway, but her head is held high.

"Jane," the voice from behind her is mockingly reproving, "I brought you here for a _reason_."

Her feet halt, halfway between him and the door. She sighs as she looks at the dark grain of the wood in front of her. Then she turns back around.

"Why?" That single question summed it all up really: Why call her up? Why bring her here? Why show her the contract? Why do something this _vile_ in the first-fucking-place? In the end she just leaves it at the one word; why.

"Because I'm willing to make you an offer." She sees that he's leaning against the desk now, white-suited legs casually crossed at the ankles, black shoes gleaming in the dim light. His head tilts away from her briefly as he stubs the cigarette butt out. Then his gaze returns, sliding back like the eyes of the snake that he is. _He wanted to make her an offer?_ She can't help remembering another offer that a snake made to a woman. It didn't turn out particularly well back then either.

But it's not like Jane had an awful lot of other options...

"What offer?" she questions steadily.

He takes his time answering, as though choosing the right words, holding her eyes as he speaks.

"You've managed to get under my skin, Jane," he relates, almost as though this was something unusual. But Jane already knew he didn't like her – and she didn't like him; what was so unusual about two people not liking each other?

He continues his little speech. "Therefore, I'm willing to… _hold off_ on my rightful acquisition of your company. Allow you the chance, perhaps, to find a way to pay off your father's debts. Allow you… _time_."

Jane's mind was taking all this in. Sionis was willing to give her the opportunity to find out just how deep a grave her father had dug for them, and try to bring them out of it. Already, she could feel her mind whirling with strategies, concepts – but she needed to know more. Most importantly, she needed to know the catch would be.

Her tone is dark, guarded. "What do you want?"

"You."

Jane blinks, first in surprise, then in confusion. The pale skin of her brow furrows–

But then it comes to her; what he meant.

She tries to make her tone even, but the very… _absurdness_ of what she assumes he's requesting makes it almost impossible. "You want to kill me?"

He snorts contemptuously. His eyes look at her like she's a complete idiot. "No," he scoffs. Then adds frankly, "Well, actually, _yes_. But making you disappear would cause me too much hassle – since you've made your distaste for me so painfully obvious to all and sundry."

Jane recalls how her high school friend, Sasha Elgar, had spoken of her father _'disappearing'_ after having dealings with Sionis… Her body feels as tense as if she were walking across a wire, a gaping maw of uncertainty opening up beneath her feet.

"So, what do you want from me?" Jane questions.

"Get on your knees and I'll give you a demonstration."

He says it so unaffectedly, so coolly, that for a moment all that rises in Jane's mind is, again, confusion.

Then it hits her – it hits her like a physical punch to the gut.

Her eyes widen and she automatically takes a shaky step back. She finds herself gaping at him, tragically thinking that maybe she'd somehow misunderstood. As if she was just waiting for him to say: 'Not _that_, you stupid girl!'

But he doesn't.

He doesn't say anything.

He just stands there, leaning against his desk and… and staring at her with those dark eyes and that cruel twist to his mouth.

And Jane knows she's guessed right. Knows by that glint that had come into his eye and the way he was watching her now.

It seems to take far, far too long before she's able to speak. When she does, her words are choked. "You – you can't be serious," she stutters, still looking at him as though he'd gone completely insane.

"Why not?" is his only response.

"B-because–" she starts… but then she realises: What was she actually going to say? Because it's _wrong_? Because it's against _the law_? Because it's not something someone would ever ask someone else to do? This was _him_ – he wasn't going to give a damn about any of that!

She can barely believe that she's having to think about… about _this_.

She falters again before she finally comes up with something. "But you just said how much you hated me!" Surely _that_ should count for something – _shouldn't it?!_

He laughs. He actually laughs! A deep, grating sound that makes every hair on her body stand on end in both revulsion and dread.

"Why do you think I want you?" he says to her, the question just as malevolent as the laughter that had preceded it.

And now it's not just anxious dismay that's swirling inside her but sickness, a full-on, stomach churning sickness which forces bile up into her throat that burns and chokes. Because now she's beginning to understand what he means, _fully_.

This… this 'offer' wasn't about attraction. It wasn't about anything even close to that. It was about revenge, and hatred. And everything dark and depraved that only a mind like his could think of. This was about a lust that wasn't physical. He wanted her to do something that he knew was so abhorrent to her that she would _hate_ herself for the rest of her life.

"You're sick," are the only words she can give voice to.

He doesn't even bother to acknowledge her statement. He simply goes on, "This is my offer: I will give you…" he pauses to contemplate for a moment, "_a year_ in order for you to try and get your father out of the substantial hole that he's dug for himself using _my money_. In return, I get your body. To do with as I please."

'_No'_. The word wants so much to claw its way out of her. It's instinctual, protective, preserving. She would rather be shot than be with _him_.

But that wasn't rational, not really. That was based on pure, potent emotion.

A_ year_ was a long time, rationale stated. _A full year_… To get her father away from Sionis' clutches. To save her family's company, her family's legacy to this city and the rest of the world. To save the livelihood of the decent, innocent people who'd showed her family such loyalty and commitment for so long. One year… _in exchange for one act_.

But she couldn't…

She couldn't say it.

No, she couldn't say anything. _Not yet_. She needed more time. More time to find out… to find out so much. To find out everything. She needed to do what she always did before taking a course of action; needed to _think_ about the repercussions.

"I need time," she says, meeting his gaze again.

His face is devoid of expression, his tone unsurprised and more than a little condescending. "I figured you would."

He raises himself up and walks back round to his high-backed chair to take a seat. Resting his elbows on the armrests, he interlocks his fingers in front of him as he relates his terms. "But while my generosity is charitable–" (Jane has to stop herself from instinctively snorting in disbelief) "–it is not limitless. You have until 10 tonight to make your decision. Or tomorrow, I take your company for myself."

"You can't be serious," she says weakly to him. 10pm was less than five hours away – and she had so much to do, so much to look into.

"Serious? _Deadly_ so, Jane," he answers.

Then he flicks his fingers at her. "Now get out," he demands. "I have more important things to do than pay attention to you if you're not giving me an answer." With that he turns his attention to a bunch of other documents that were across his desk. "Oh, and you can keep that contract," he says without looking up. "I have plenty more copies in my safe."

Jane simply remains standing there. 'Stunned' would be the only term that came close to describing her state. 'Hopelessly lost' would be a close second.

Eventually, more through lack of anything else to do than a conscious decision on her part, her feet turn and she begins to walk towards the office doors. Those same doors that she'd burst through earlier… before her life had so irrevocably changed.

"Oh, and Jane," he drawls.

She turns back around to find his black stare intently upon her once more.

"You should also be aware: If you even attempt to go to the cops with this, I'll know. And my offer will be void. As will your dear family's company. And your father's life."

Her heart stutters, her body freezing over afresh. "What?" she all but whispers. That was never part of the deal – her father's _life?!_

"That's only if you go to the cops," Sionis clarifies calmly. "If you simply wish for him to lose his fortune, his livelihood and his entire life's work then, by all means, feel free to refuse my offer."

She continues to stand there gaping at him.

With one last glance, he returns to his work, leaving her with only the words: "Clock's ticking, Jane."

She walks out in a daze.

Back through the foyer, back through the corridor. The elevator stood open, waiting for her, the dull chime echoing in her ear…

It's the vision of the setting sun's burning light lancing through the clouds and shining across the gleaming tiles of the ground floor which finally breaks the stupor.

She hits the sidewalk at a run.

…

***.*.*.*.*.***

**A/N: Why, yes, that **_**is**_** the direction that this fic is taking. That was always the direction that I was planning to take it in – 'twas what the muse dictated! ;P But I hope that this plot development hasn't put anyone off! If it has, well... Sorry! **

**I can't say for sure when the next update will be and I'm not going to make any promises, because I know how disappointing it is when author's say that they'll update at a certain time and then don't :'( So, I'll just say that the next chapter will be out as soon as I can get it out! In the meantime, feel free to keep those reviews coming ;)**

**Thanks all. Take it easy :)**


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